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“No, but if you look here, at the upper left corner, there’s a piece of text missing. Was it on the original parchment?”
“No, I photographed it exactly as it appeared. Do you remember if the date was on the original you saw?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Would you care to venture a guess?”
“Do not hold me to this, but I would estimate between six and seven hundred years old.”
“Go on, please,” Sam prompted.
“Again, you must wait for the written version . . .”
“We understand.”
“It is an order to a group of soldiers . . . special soldiers called Sentinels. They are instructed to carry out a plan of some kind—something detailed in another document, I suspect. The plan is designed to remove something called the Theurang from its place of hiding and transport it to safety.”
“Why?”
“Something to do with an invasion.”
“Does it explain what the Theurang is?”
“I do not think so. I am sorry, most of this is only vaguely familiar to me. This was four decades ago. I remember the word because it is unusual, but I do not think I followed up on it. I am a classics teacher. However, I have no doubt there is someone on staff here who would be of more help with the word. I can check for you.”
“We’d appreciate that,” Sam replied. “Do you remember Lewis’s reaction when you gave him the translation?”
Kaalrami smiled. “He was elated, as I recall. But, then again, Bully never lacked for enthusiasm. He lived life to its fullest, that man.”
“Did he say where he found the parchment?”
“If he did, I don’t remember. Perhaps tonight, while I’m translating this, more will come back to me.”
“One last question,” Remi said. “What do you remember about the time Lewis disappeared?”
“Oh, yes, I remember. We spent the morning together. We had a brunch picnic along a river. The Bagmati, on the southwestern side of the city.”
In unison, Sam and Remi leaned forward. Sam asked, “Chobar Gorge?”
Professor Kaalrami smiled and tilted her head at Sam. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. And after the picnic?”
“Lewis had his backpack with him—that was more common than not for him. He was always on the move. It was a beautiful day, warm, not a cloud in the sky. As I recall, I took pictures. I had a new camera, one of those first instant Polaroid models, the ones that folded up. Back then, it was a marvel of technology.”
“Please tell us you still have those pictures.”
“I may. It w
ill depend on my son’s technical skills. If you’ll excuse me.” Professor Kaalrami got up, walked to the side table, picked up a phone, and dialed. She spoke in Nepali for a couple minutes, then looked over to Sam and Remi and covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “Do you have mobiles with e-mail access?”
Sam gave her his address.
Kaalrami spoke on the phone for another thirty seconds, then returned to the table. She sighed. “My son. He tells me I need to come into the digital age. Last month he started scanning—is that the right word?—all my old photo albums. He finished the ones from the picnic last week. He’s sending them to you.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “And to your son.”
Remi said, “You were saying, about the picnic . . . ?”
